


Onions Among the Roses

by SomeCereals



Category: Twisted-Wonderland (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Abuse, Gen, Riddle is like an onion, Spoilers, he has many layers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29573655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeCereals/pseuds/SomeCereals
Summary: “What in the world do two completely different plants have to do with this?”“... ‘Onions’ can only make you stronger--so do not be ashamed to cut them.”
Comments: 1
Kudos: 39





	Onions Among the Roses

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, people do actually plant onions (and chives) around roses! Apparently, it helps make the roses smell more fragrant.
> 
> ***Spoilers for Riddle’s childhood, Ghost Marriage Riddle’s home screen lines, and chapter 1 of the main story!***
> 
> ***CONTENT WARNING: this piece mentions a dysfunctional family and emotional abuse!***

The stillness of the kitchen was near stifling. Quiet, save for the sounds of ingredients being prepared for plating--the soft gurgle of simmering water, the methodical cut of knives against a wooden board or vegetable flesh.

Riddle sucked in a breath through his teeth, careful to not breathe in the noxious fumes of his half-cut onion. Instead, the oppressive atmosphere slipped in, and he almost gagged.

 _Small talk,_ he suggested to himself, _make some small talk to drive this horridness away._

“So,” the Heartslabyul dorm leader began, trying to sound casual, “how are you finding the Master Chef course to be so far, Silver?”

“It has been a fascinating experience. I am pleased with the progress that I am making.” He spoke seriously as he whittled away at a potato, forming one continuous ribbon of skin. His iridescent eyes beheld a subtle glow to them--thoughtful. “Father has been pleased as well. He praised the Chicken with Tomato Sauce that I prepared last night.”

Riddle’s knife froze midair. “Your father has visited Night Raven College?”

“Well, more or less,” Silver confessed with a shrug. “He’s always around, always keeping an eye on me, some way or another.”

“I... I see.” Riddle’s eyes turned slightly downcast. “I have not yet had the honor of presenting my cooking to anyone, let alone my father.”

* * *

“I’m sure that he would love your food.” Silver reassured him. He set down his neatly peeled potato and started on a new one, the blade of his knife pressed firmly against the grain.

“I’m not so certain,” the redhead replied, a hint of bitterness in his tone. He brought his knife down, cleaving slices from his onion’s bulbous body. “I am not particularly close to either one of my parents. They are not intimate with one another, either.”

Riddle remembered them well: long afternoons and evenings, stretching into bouts of silence, punctured only by the clinking of silverware. His mother and father staring into their own dishes, refusing to address one another. A ‘dessert’ placed before him, tasting of limp cardboard and sadness.

No smiles or joy to be had.

“A Rosehearts family meal is not one you would wish to be invited to,” he declared with the shake of his head.

“Oh.” Silver’s hands came to a stop, his potato peel dangling precariously by his hip. “I’m sorry to hear that, Riddle.”

“Don’t be,” he insisted--a bit too quickly, perhaps. “I may not enjoy it, but I have come to accept it for what it is: my reality. I must hold my head high and continue to advance, regardless of that.”

“Your dedication is admirable,” Silver nodded stiffly, “but even if it _is_ your reality, that does it does not make the blows you’ve been dealt any less painful. Wounds of the body and wounds of the heart can hurt equally.”

“... I suppose so.” Again and again, Riddle’s knife came down mercilessly upon the onion. His motions had gotten smoother with time and repetition, but his dices were still not even in size.

They settled back into silence, each boy tending to their own _mise en place. Simmering. Chopping._ Discomfort seeped in and filled the space between them.

Silver cleared his throat. “... How are _you_ finding the Master Chef course?”

“Ah... The instruction has been very informative, but I fear I still have a long way to go when it comes to putting lecture material to practice.” Riddle eyed Silver’s knife. “You seem to be quite skilled in some regards already.”

“Swordplay is my specialty,” he replied. “I have been training since I was young. The same goes for Sebek.”

“Practical skills will serve you well.” Riddle flinched as the odor of onions tickled his nostrils. He sucked in another breath through his teeth.

He had once thought of wielding a whisk or a spatula, of whipping cream and flipping patties. He had wanted to make mud pies and set up a lemonade stand. Dreamt of colors and textures and shapes and flavors. To mold them with his own hands, to taste them with his own tongue.

 _“The only things you need to worry about are your grades--your grades, and following the rules,”_ his mother had told him, plucking the butter knife out of his hands. Over and over and over. _“Go back to your books.”_

His dreams laid in shards upon the floor.

“I’ve had a very privileged, but sheltered, upbringing,” Riddle said with a weak laugh, “so I am afraid that when it comes to hands-on exercises such as this... I may very well underperform.”

“It’s fine. No one is perfect at everything.”

“I _must_ be.”

Silver cast his classmate a puzzled look. 

“I _must,_ ” Riddle repeated, tightening his grip on the handle of his knife, “if I wish to live independently. I cannot always rely on Trey to prepare tea, or Che’nya to yank me outdoors.”

“Riddle...”

How mad his mother had been when she had discovered him missing, when she had discovered the sugar dusting his lips. The strawberry tart had tasted sweet, yet fleeting. She had screeched like a banshee, forbidden him from playing with the other children ever again.

And how _livid_ she had been when he had confronted her over winter break.

 _“You are my son. You are a Rosehearts. You will not defy **me** \--you will not defy the rules!” _she had roared. _“Who has been planting these **poisonous** thoughts in your mind? I want to speak to them!!”_

He inhaled shakily and shoved the memories of her shouting out of his mind.

“I need to start making strides on my own--and this is the first step towards that. I cannot allow myself to fail, no matter what.” The redhead pressed the tip of his blade into the onion--the hand curled atop the vegetable, trembling. His expression, solemn.

Silver set down his knife and potato, briskly walked over to Riddle’s workspace, and grasped his wrists. “Stop. You’re shaking all over. It’s not safe to cut it like that.”

“But the onion--”

“Forget the onion. Take a bre--” Silver came to a full pause when he saw Riddle’s face. “... You’re crying.”

And so he was.

Fat tears rolled down his face, his cheeks bloated and rosy. The Heartslabyul dorm leader shook, furiously rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hands. He sniffled loudly, but managed to choke something semi-comprehendible out.

“Th-The onions must be making my eyes water.”

“Of course. Let me get you a towel.”

It took only a few moments for Silver to retrieve a warm, wet cloth. He offered it to Riddle, who immediately pressed the cloth to his eyes.

“I’m... I’m sorry. You shouldn’t see me in such a pathetic state.”

“As I have said before, you are fine,” Silver said patiently. “No man is able to take down a beast by himself. It takes the backing of an entire village to ensure that he is prepared for his quest.”

“But crying at my age... It is unfitting, especially for a dorm leader.”

“Falling and losing your footing are all normal in the learning process. I stumbled a lot as well when I was training with the sword. What matters is that you are able to pick yourself up afterwards. Never losing sight of your goal.”

Silver folded his arms. “To be both the best student, and the best chef. To gain independence for yourself. _That_ is why you fight, and why you shed your tears.”

Riddle slowly lowered the towel from his eyes. His wet gaze met Silver’s. “Are tears truly something to be proud of?”

"... There are many roses in the Valley of Thorns. And, sometimes, onions are planted alongside them. It is said that when they are grouped together, onions can enhance the fragrant aroma of roses." 

“What in the world do two completely different plants have to do with this?”

"... 'Onions' can only make you stronger--so do not be ashamed to cut them.” Silver plucked a fresh bulb from a basket and handed it to his peer. “Rest, and reflect on it. When you are ready, you can return to your ingredients.”

He turned and started to walk back to his own work station, but paused midstride.

“Riddle.”

“Yes?”

“You should come over sometime, and join us for a meal. Fath...” Silver caught himself and rushed to correct his phrasing. “Ah, I mean... you should come over to Diasomnia. Malleus-sama and Lilia-sama would be happy to host you.”

Riddle gave the smallest of smiles. “I would like that very much.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed reading this piece, please check out my Twisted Wonderland writing blog and consider sending in a request of your own (though currently I am not accepting new requests)! I usually only post my longer pieces to AO3 (1000+ words), but you can find a lot of my shorter one shots on the blog.
> 
> Link is: https://raven-at-the-writing-desk.tumblr.com/
> 
> Thank you for your time~


End file.
